


Comforting Bruises

by calmlikesurrender



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, M/M, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:30:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calmlikesurrender/pseuds/calmlikesurrender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam grows up and learns some stuff about love along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comforting Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> This is AU and it is absolutely ridiculous, I don’t even know. I was just fooling around with something, and this happened.

“It’s not apple juice,” Harry tells him with a smug grin as Liam sips water from his own cup. Harry’s breath is strong and bitter, the drink in his cup sloshes around with his shaky hand. And it’s gold like apple juice, so Liam had just assumed really. They’re sitting in Harry’s room because his is bigger and Liam’s door doesn’t lock. Harry’s hand is in Liam’s lap, and he hasn’t started squeezing yet, so Liam doesn’t try and push him away.

            “It’s alcohol,” Harry says.

_Oh._

            Then the most terrifying sort of silence settles where Liam thinks maybe he said something wrong. It’s always worse when Harry’s upset.

            “I’m a grownup now. So it’s alcohol,” Harry says matter-of-fact. Liam’s old enough now to know that his older brother is only sixteen. That he’s not an adult at all. Not like their parents are. Their eyes meet, but Harry’s dart away.

            They’re a really pretty green, like a light green. Liam’s always envied them. Even now, he wishes his weren’t so dark. Maybe just a shade lighter..

            Liam watches Harry drink. Harry swallows and winces. Gags a little. His eyes tear up.

          “You don’t like it, though,” Liam points out, with the sort of to-the-point rationality only a child could possess and Harry cups him through his overalls, “Why drink it if you don’t like it?” He places his water on the floor at his feet and leans to Harry.

            Harry swallows the last drop then flicks his tongue across the edge of his glass to prove a point Liam never thinks he’ll understand.

          “Just mind your own business. You’re a kid. You’re not gonna’ get it.”

             _So don’t try?_  Liam rolls his eyes and sighs like he’s seen their mother do when she’s given up.

            Harry tells him to shut up, then lies Liam back.

            It’s not so bad really, so he takes it. It sort of hurts, but Harry always soothes that away afterwards.

Liam was 6.

 

—

            Liam laces his tan fingers with Niall’s.

            “Niall, you’re  _so_  pale.” So, so pale. Like always, The Titanic is the background music to their night. They’re right at the part where they hook up in that cool antique car. Steamy windows, red hair, chilly deaths. The slick feel of Niall’s burgundy sheets starts to feel like butter. He scoots over onto the floor and smells the carpet. It smells like him.

            “Niall?”

            “Uh huh?”

            “Your rug smells like shit.”

            He dodges an expertly chucked pillow and laughs a little too loud. Niall whips his head out at him and places a long finger over his lips.  _Ssshhhh!_

His dad works early. Liam silences his giggle as fast as it came.

            After a moment of near silence, Niall leans over the bed again. Liam start to say something sharp, but his face is serious.

            “You wouldn’t lie to me, right?”

             He cringes.

            “Why?”

            “Just say you wouldn’t!” Niall hisses.

            “Fine. I wouldn’t, but you know that already. I tell you everything.”

            Niall makes a weird face and climbs down. Liam moves over and gives him room on the floor. He reaches under his bed and feels around for a minute. He unwraps a bundled up pillowcase and hands Liam his journal.

            He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.

          “You left it here last night,” Niall says, “I wasn’t going to read it- and I pretty much didn’t- except for one page.”

            He flips the black leather book open to the only folded page. It’s about as light in Niall’s room as a cave on the moon, but he manage a few lines. That’s all he needs.

            “You didn’t tell me,” Niall whispers. “That’s sort of a lie and we’re best friends.” Liam can feel Niall’s breath on the side of his face. It’s warm. He smells like his carpet. “You’re supposed to tell me everything. So you lied.”

             Liam takes a deep breath and tries to push the tears back in. Back to wherever they came from.

            “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            He doesn’t know what to say.

            He doesn’t say anything at all.

            Eventually Niall climbs back onto his bed. Pale skin and a burgundy comforter. Liam lets his breath go.

            With his lips sewn shut, so many things don’t have to be free. A wave of beautiful notions sweeps him down. He can cage the monster and keep everyone he loves safe and blind. He was 12.

—

            Crossed legs and eight mugs of scorching hot chocolate. Liam chugs, Louis sips. Niall blows. They all trace their fingers across the rims of their glasses. A room full of guys and no one’s talking. Liam sits in his corner and waits for Niall to break the silence. It’s why no one believes them when they hear they’re best friends. Liam and Niall? But he’s  _so_  quiet. But he’s  _so_  loud. Niall clears her throat.

            “Truth or dare?”

            Niall takes the silence to mean, “Why, yes, of course.”

            “I’ll go first,” he smiles, then turns to face Louis. “Truth or dare?”

            Louis hesitates and they all lean toward him. They need to know what he says. If it’s truth, then he’s nervous. No competition. But if it’s a dare, then they’ve all got to step up. No one wants to be the first to turn down a dare. Even if they really don’t want it.

            Louis looks around nervously. “Truth,” he sighs, and Liam leans back and takes another gulp of his hot chocolate. It burns at first, then slides down his throat like a slug. Smooth. Calming? He doesn’t know. He’s talking rubbish now.

            Two hours later and he’s lying in bed with Louis beside him. His feet are cold and Louis’ are too warm so they tangle together like a big cream-colored pretzel. It’s better than when Harry would pull him down, close and sticky and grunting.

            Louis licks his neck and he shivers.

            “You taste like soap.”

            Liam tries not to smile.

            Cherry pie blasts from his stereo. Louis looks at him and they laugh louder than they should. Nervously? Whatever. They laugh and then it fades away and Louis’ kissing him and he can’t breathe.

            “Louis? Lou?”

            He shakes him. He snores.

            “Louis?”

            “Whuh?”

            “Louis, can I tell you something?”

            He sits up.

            “Anything,” he says and Liam catches his breath. The moon light coming in from the window hits Louis’ eyes just right. Turns the blue, silver.

            “I think I love Niall,” and Louis shrugs.

            Then Liam feels alright. He had thought it was going to be horrible, then he just shrugs. He always hated telling secrets, but sometimes he just wants to get it off of his chest. He always regrets it, though. Especially when the next day, first thing in the morning, everyone knows. He get creeped out stares and disgusted stares. He sews his lips up tight again, this time with stronger string.. so he can’t just rip them apart when he wants to spill a bit of soul fluid. It’s going to take more than a little urge to pry him. He makes vows and broken promises. He was 15.

—

            “Can you see it?”

            Zayn laughs, but pulls Liam’s collar aside anyway.

            “I’m sure it’s noth-”

            Then he can’t breathe anymore. It’s like he was walking on the sand then he’s suddenly thrown out into the deepest ocean carrying Atlas’ weight. His knees give out.

            “Damn,” Zayn whispers.

            “How bad is it?”

            He takes a moment, the whole time studying Liam’s neck as if his clueless glare will make it disappear.

            “How bad?”

            “It wouldn’t be so bad,” he whispers, “if you weren’t so light.”

            “Zayn, how bad  _is_  it?”

            He spins Liam around to face the mirror and he sucks in a deep breath. His whole chest is beet red. Everything from his neck down, not that it makes it any better that his neck’s not red. It’s blue and purple. And black. Right where Zayn’s thumbs were. Liam touches one small circle. It stings, but not so bad.

            “Maybe I can cover it..” He’s thinking out loud. Zayn is pacing.

            “They’re on their way right now!”

            Liam swallows and sits down.

            “Please stop yelling. It’s freaking me out.”

            Zayn sits next to me. Twirls the ring on his finger. Licks his lips. Watches his shoes.

            Then all of a sudden, he’s on his feet.

            His fists are tight, so Liam sinks back to that familiar place where nothing hurts. It’s a warm, slick trade off. Zayn glares at him. Liam escapes.

            He hears his voice drifting away. He’s on an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean. He’s draining a coconut and Zayn’s angry.

            Something about it being Liam’s fault. Always is. The warm sand feels incredible on his bare feet. Tan sand, pale skin, and the shocking black of comforting bruises.

            The pain doesn’t register. He can see it happening, but can’t comprehend. He remembers a few moments of chatter, then silence. He remembers smiling, but it felt so awkward. So unfamiliar. Then he traces “Niall” into the sand and it’s gone again. He’s away. He’s home. He’s holding Niall’s hand. He’s singing something Coldplay to a broken microphone. He’s far, far away.

            Zayn touches his face with a cool hand and Liam swallows a mouthful of blood. It tastes beautiful. Almost reassuring. Even in his dream he can taste. The pain doesn’t register, but the taste is salty and metallic and warm and thick and sad and he swallows again and reminds himself to breathe. Zayn kisses his neck and, “I’m sorry, you know.”

            Liam does. Really. It’s alright. He doesn’t feel anything. He deserves this, anyway. His lips are sealed.

He’s 18.


End file.
